The Three Amigos
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy and Wilson are in a fight and it's driving House nuts.


The Three Amigos

House was sitting alone in the cafeteria when he saw Cuddy and Wilson approaching from opposite directions, both wielding trays.

"Good, I'm starving," he said, when they converged at his table.

Wilson looked up, saw Cuddy, and sheepishly said, "I should probably go eat at my desk."

Cuddy frowned a bit. "No, I'll eat at my desk," she said tersely.

"What's so damn appetizing at both your desks?" House said.

"I'll talk to you later," Cuddy said to House, giving him a distracted kiss on the cheek. And she strode away.

With a shrug, Wilson sat down across from House.

"What the hell was that all about?" House said, annoyed.

"She wants to eat at her desk," Wilson said, casually.

"But she was carrying a tray and _heading to my table_!"

Wilson sighed, lowered his voice:

"To be honest, I didn't want to have tell you this, but Cuddy and I sort of aren't. . .speaking to each other."

"I knew this would happen!" House cracked. "When will you two accept that I like mommy and daddy equally!"

But Wilson wasn't smiling.

House squinted at him.

"Seriously? You guys are in a real fight? I can't even begin to wrap my brain around what you two would be fighting about. What do you even talk about besides me?"

Wilson took a glum bite of his chicken salad sandwich.

"Do you know my friend Marty Summers, the cardiologist from Hoboken?"

"No," House said.

"You played poker with him two weeks ago!"

"Oh yeah. . . him. . . right," House said.

"Anyway, he applied for the opening in Cardiology. I told him I'd put in the good word for him with Cuddy."

"And she didn't hire him? Big deal."

"I asked her if he was going to get the job and she said, 'He's at the top of a short list.' And then she _winked_."

"Cuddy doesn't wink. You sure she didn't just have something in her eye?"

"Oh believe me, she winked! As if to say, 'I can't officially tell you that I'm hiring him because it's against hospital protocol but he's got this in the bag.'"

"You got all that from a wink?"

"So I told Marty that he was a shoe-in for the job and he turned down a comparable offer at Jersey Memorial."

"Ruh ro."

"And then she hired Dev Singh."

"He's good."

"You have no idea who he is!"

"True. But I'm sure Cuddy wouldn't have hired him unless he was good."

"You're right. He is good. But that's not the point. The point is, Marty took me out for dinner to thank me."

"Awkward."

"And now he's not speaking to me."

"Doubly awkward. . .but I still don't really get why you're not talking to Cuddy."

"Because she told me he was at the top of her list! And she winked."

"Yeah, you mentioned that already."

"Thanks to Cuddy, Marty Summers has no job and I've lost a good friend. She needs to apologize to me."

"Good luck with that."

"Well, I'm not speaking to her until she does."

"Really mature, Wilson!" House said, in an adenoidal teenage voice.

But Wilson still wasn't smiling.

######

"You need to apologize to Wilson," House said, flopping onto the couch in Cuddy's office, a lollipop jammed in his mouth, his legs dangling over the arm rest.

"Forget it," Cuddy said, scowling. "If anything he owes me an apology!"

"Christ. What for?"

"Putting me in an awkward position. He told me he'd consider it a personal favor if I hired Summers. Friendship should never be a factor in a hiring decision."

"Agreed. . . but now this Summers guy isn't talking to him."

"That makes two of us."

House shook his head.

"You know how sensitive Wilson can be. Just man up—uh, woman up—and apologize."

"Why should I? I did nothing wrong. And besides, who told him to tell Marty Summers I was hiring him? I never said I was."

"He said you winked."

"I don't wink."

"That's what I said! But he said you said, 'He's at the top of a short list.' And then you winked."

"He _wa_s at the top of a short list. And I must've had an eyelash in my eye."

"This is like the second gunman of winks," House said, musingly. "The smoking wink. The tell-tale wink. The wink of doom."

"Shut up, House."

"Sorry."

"This is what Wilson gets for trying to take advantage of our friendship. He put everyone involved in an awkward position."

"Now _I'm_ in an awkward position!" House said.

"Tough."  
####

The next day, at lunch, Wilson was sitting alone at one table and, on the opposite side of the room, Cuddy was sitting alone at another.

Now it was House who was standing in the center of the cafeteria, holding a tray.

He stood, paralyzed, like a deer trapped in the headlights. He looked to his left.

Wilson gave a diffident wave.

He looked to his right.

Cuddy folded her arms.

"Christ, where's an ejector button when I need one?" House mumbled to himself.

But he was no fool. He made his way over to Cuddy's table.

"Hello dearest," he said, with exaggerated sweetness.

"Good choice," she said.

#####

"Sorry about that lunch thing," House said to Wilson later.

"No worries," Wilson said. "I understand completely. I may be your best friend. But you have sex with Cuddy."

"Precisely."

"However, had you sat with me, I might've actually blown you."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that."  
#####

A few nights later, House grabbed his knapsack and gave Cuddy a light kiss on the lips.

"I'm off," he said.

"Where are you going?" she asked, looking up from the book she was reading.

"I, uh, told you. I had that thing."

"What thing?"

"That thing with the boys."

"You don't have boys. You have _a_ boy. You're going out with Wilson aren't you?"

House shuffled his feet.

"Maybe," he said guiltily.

"You don't have to lie about it. I understand that you and Wilson are still friends."

"Okay. . .good thanks," House said, quickly heading to the door, hoping to escape further discussion. "Don't stay up!"

"House?"

He stopped, rolled his eyes a bit.

"You don't talk shit about me in front of Wilson, do you?" Cuddy asked.

"Of course not!" House said, truthfully.

"But you take his side, right? I mean, when it's just the two of you."

"No. I'm neutral baby. I'm Switzerland."

He grabbed the doorknob.

"House . . .?"

He sighed.

"Yes Cuddy?"

"If we were in a burning building and you could only save me or Wilson, who would you save?"

"C'mon Cuddy. You're better than that."

"I know I am. Who would you save?"

"Probably neither of you. I'm a cripple. We'd all perish."

"I'm serious."

"_Really_?"

"I know you love me. It's just that sometimes I think you . . ._like _Wilson more than me."

"But I vastly prefer seeing you naked."

"House!"

She looked hurt.

He limped back over to her, took her hand.

"Wilson is my best friend. You're the love of my life. See the difference there?"

She gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Go have drinks with your boy," she said.

#####

At Sullivan's, House turned to Wilson.

"You and Cuddy have got to make up. It's driving me crazy. I can't take much more of this."

Wilson took a gulp of his beer.

"Not my fault," he said.

"Actually, it _is_ your fault."

"Cuddy needs to learn to apologize. She's so used to getting her ass kissed by everyone—present company included, by the way—she's forgotten that sometimes she's the one who did wrong."

"I don't kiss Cuddy's ass! Well, I do. But not in the way you're implying."

"If you say so," Wilson said. "But it just feels like you've taken her side this whole time."

House side-eyed him.

"Oh God, Wilson. Not you, too?"

"Not me what?" Wilson said, grouchily.

"Cuddy is acting completely nuts about this. Before I left she asked me who I would save first in a burning building: Her or you!"

"That _is_ nuts," Wilson said sympathetically. Then he thought about it for a second:

"Who _would_ you save?"

And House put his head in his hands.

####

"Will you take a look at this file so I can convince the nimrods who work for me that they're imagining things?" House said, shoving a scan in Wilson's face.

"What am I looking for?" Wilson said.

"A spot on the lungs. ForeChaub sees it. I say they're imaging things."

Wilson looked at the file.

"I don't see anything," he said. Then he squinted, looked closer. "Wait! Right there! I see it!"

House cocked his head.

He took the file, put it on Wilson's lightboard.

"Where?" he demanded.

"It's almost imperceptible, but right. . .there," Wilson said, proudly.

House craned his neck.

"Shit," he said. "I see it now."

Wilson squinted at him.

"You really didn't notice that?"

House shrugged, grabbed the scan off the lightboard.

"Can't catch em all," he said breezily—and limped out.

#####

That night, when Cuddy climbed into bed, House was sitting with his back propped against the headboard, reading a medical journal.

"Hi," she said.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing a seriously skimpy nightgown.

"Hi," he said, squirming a bit.

"What are you reading?"

"It's very sexy stuff," he said. "_Genomic Findings in Uter_. . ."

"Actually, don't care," she said, taking the magazine and tossing it on the floor. Then she straddled him.

"Ooops," she said in a Marilyn-Monroe-ish voice. "Your magazine seems to have fallen on the floor. What on earth can we do instead?"

She leaned toward him, expecting him to devour her, as he usually did in such moments.

Instead, he picked her up and gently placed her on the pillow next to him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Long day. I think I'm just going to call it a night."

She looked at him, incredulous.

"_Really_?" she said.

This was, quite literally, a first.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm, uh, not in the mood."

"You sure about that?" she said skeptically, looking at the tented shape under the covers.

"Involuntary reaction," he said, turning away from her and switching off the light. "G'night, Cuddy."

"Does this have anything to do with the fight I'm in with Wilson?" she said.

"Of course not," he said.

"Then prove it by at least give me a kiss goodnight," she said.

He gulped a bit, then went to give her a tiny peck on the cheek. Instead of responding in kind, she grabbed his face and gave him a deep kiss. He resisted for all of two seconds, before shoving his tongue in her mouth and beginning to ardently massage her back and ass. Then he deftly scooped her up and placed her on top of him so she was straddling him again.

"I thought you were tired?" she said, feeling tingly as his hands grazed her breasts.

"I got a second wind," he said, pulling off her nightie.

######

Wilson stood in the doorway to Cuddy's office, his hands shoved in his pockets.

He cleared his throat.

"What do you want Wilson?" she said, sharply.

He stepped in.

"Look, I know things haven't been very. . .cordial between the two of us lately, but I wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?"

"Shoot," she said, not looking up from her paperwork.

"Actually, it's about House," Wilson said. "I'm worried about him."

Cuddy put her paperwork down and finally looked up at him.

"Have a seat," she said.

He sat, crossed his legs, then nervously uncrossed them.

"He's been acting . . .strange," Wilson said.

"Strange how?"

"He missed a spot on a scan," Wilson said.

Cuddy shrugged.

"It happens."

"Not to House it doesn't," he said.

"Hardly cause for alarm."

"He ate a salad today at lunch!"

"I'll admit that's unusual," she chuckled. "But I still wouldn't be overly—"

"He paid for it! And when the lunch lady rang him up he told her to keep the change and said, and I quote, HAVE A NICE DAY!"

"He _what_?"

"I know," Wilson said. "See? Alarming."

"Okay, that _is_ alarming."

"I don't want to overreact but it kind of reminds me of that time he was on. . ."

"Methadone," Cuddy finished for him. She had a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Again, it's all probably just a coincidence. But I thought I'd ask: Have you seen him drink alcohol at all in the last week?"

Cuddy did a quick mental scan of the previous week.

"Now that you mention it," she said. "No."

"Anything else out of the ordinary?"

Cuddy slowly shook her head.

"No," she said thoughtfully. Then it dawned her: "Wait! We almost didn't have sex last night."

Wilson looked at her.

"Almost?" he said.

"Well, at first he said he was too tired. But then he, um, roused."

"And this was unusual because you . . .have sex every night?" Wilson said it. He chuckled until he saw the look on her face. "_Seriously_?"

Cuddy suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Well not _every_ night," she said, biting a fingernail. "Sometimes he sleeps at his place."

"He hasn't slept at his place in three months!"

"Has it been that long?" Cuddy said, sheepishly. "Then okay, yeah. I guess we basically have sex every night. He usually has the libido of a horny 19-year-old."

"Low libido is another side effect of methadone use," Wilson said. He frowned.

"So we've got mental fogginess, low-_ish_ libido, and his inexplicably good mood," Wilson said. "Do you think House is more upset over this. . ._rift_ between us than he's letting on?"

"I suppose it's possible. He does tend to internalize things."

"Shit," Wilson said. "Listen, why don't you observe him on your end and I'll observe him on mine and we can meet up again in a few days to discuss what we've seen. Say Thursday? Around this time?"

"Sounds like a plan," Cuddy said.

"Good," Wilson said, popping up, nodding. "It's a date."

As he was leaving the office, he bumped right smack into House.

"Hey, it's the Two Amigos!" House said cheerfully. "Together again!"

"We haven't made up," Cuddy said.

"We were just discussing. . .work," Wilson said.

"Oh, c'mon guys," House said. "Group hug!"

And Wilson and Cuddy exchanged a worried look.

####

On Thursday, Wilson brought Cuddy a powerhouse sandwich from the cafeteria and they sat and discussed their observations.

From Wilson: House praising his team, complimenting Wilson's tie, and briefly forgetting the word "metastasized."

"He said, that thing when the cancer spreads," Wilson said.

From Cuddy: House voluntarily doing dishes, taking out the trash, and crying at the end of the _Marley and Me_.

"The fact that he even agreed to watch _Marley and Me_ is highly irregular," she said.

"That's it," Wilson said. "He's on methadone. We have to confront him."

"You're right," Cuddy said.

"When should we do it?"

"As soon as possible, I guess. Tonight, my place?"

"Okay."

Wilson stood up.

"Cuddy? I've been meaning to say this: I'm sorry about that whole Marty Summers thing. You had the right to hire whomever you wanted to hire. And it was wrong for me to make things personal."

Cuddy smiled a bit.

"And I'm sorry if I misled you. Marty really was at the top of my list. It's just that Dr. Singh ended up being a little bit higher."

"You made the right choice," Wilson said. "Singh is a great doctor."

"Thank you," Cuddy said. "But I never winked!"

"I believe you," Wilson said, with a tiny chuckle. He started to leave, then stopped. He stood there, in the doorway, as a thought incubated in his head.

"House is not on methadone," he said suddenly.

"What? We just established that he clearly is"—and then she paused, as she also got it—"pulling a fast one to get us both on the same page."

"Because House knows the one thing that always brings us together—"

"Is him," Cuddy said.

"That devious bastard," Wilson said, shaking his head.

######

At about 9:30 that night, there was a loud knock on Cuddy's door.

"Who could that be?" Cuddy said, feigning ignorance.

"I don't know, but whoever it is, can they maybe knock a little louder?" House grumbled. "_Hello! Sleeping toddler in here!_" he bellowed, in a voice far louder than the knock.

He opened the door, saw Wilson.

"Oh, it's you," he said, puzzled. "What's up?"

"I'm here because I want to. . ."

"_We_ want to," Cuddy chimed in.

"Talk to you," they said in unison.

A tiny smile began to play at the corner of House's mouth.

"What about?" he said, mirthfully.

"Let's all sit down, shall we?" Cuddy said.

She led House to the couch, sat down next to him, took his hand.

Wilson sat across from them.

"This looks serious," House said, his eyes twinkling.

"House, we know," Wilson said solemnly.

"Know what?" House said, trying not to laugh.

"We know about the methadone," Cuddy said.

"You do, huh?" House said.

"Yes," Wilson said. "And don't try to deny it, because the signs are all there."

"So this is something the two of you figured out," House said. "_Together_?"

"Yes," Cuddy said.

"So you guys are talking again? You made up?"

"Yes, but that's besides the point," Wilson said.

"Yahtzee!" House said, pumping his fist.

Cuddy and Wilson exchanged a look.

"I'm not on methadone," House explained, putting his hands behind his head.

"We know that this is hard. . ." Wilson said.

"It wasn't hard. It was easy. Because I _made the whole thing up_," House said.

"We'll get you the help you need," Cuddy said.

"Guys, I'm NOT on methadone. I just faked it so that you two would do what comes natural: Obsess about me."

"What about the scan?" Wilson said.

"A first year med student could've found the shadow on that scan," House crowed. "Even in a drug-addled state, do you seriously think I would miss that?"

"What about _Marley and Me_? You cried!" Cuddy said.

"Worst. Movie. Ever. I cried out of boredom."

"What about the methadone we found in your desk?" Wilson said.

Suddenly, the cocky smile dissolved from House's face.

"_What_?!"

"We found a bottle of methadone in your desk," Wilson said.

And he reached into his pocket and pulled out the offending bottle.

"That's not mine! I have no idea how that got in my desk. I swear," House said, suddenly agitated. "I'm off vicodin. I'm healthy. I'm happy. Why would I take methadone?"

"Lots of addicts have relapses," Cuddy said.

"I'm sure we can get you readmitted to Mayfield."

"I swear! I've never seen that bottle in my life!" House sputtered, his face turning red.

"You know. . . I have to admit I'm curious," Cuddy said musingly. "I've actually never tried methadone. Have you, Wilson?"

"No, never," he said.

"Shall we?"

Wilson opened the bottle, took out two pills, put one in his mouth and handed the other to Cuddy, who popped it in her mouth, as House watched, aghast.

"Mmmm. . .minty," Cuddy said.

And she and Wilson burst into laughter.

"You little pieces of shit," House said, shaking his head, beginning to laugh a bit himself.

"Bad form playing on your ADDICTION to get us back together," Wilson said.

"A desperate man must use desperate measures," House said.

"I know someone who's going to be feeling desperate later tonight," Cuddy said, shooting House a look.

"We'll see about that," he mouthed back at her.

Then the normal color returned to his face and he gave a little smile.

"So this was something the two of you cooked up to teach me a lesson, huh?"

"Yes," Wilson and Cuddy said, in unison.

House grinned.

"I feel like a proud papa," he said.  
#######

A few hours later, Cuddy stood in the master bath, washing her face, as House watched her from the bed.

"Are you ever going to wipe that smug look off your face?" Cuddy said, in mock exasperation.

"What can I say, I love a happy ending. . ." Then he raised his eyebrows. "Speaking of which. . ."

"Dream on, meth-head."

He smiled in a touché sort of way.

"You have to admit," he said. "It's better when we're the Three Amigos and not the One Amigo Dividing His Time Evenly Between the Two Other Amigos So Neither Amigo Gets Their Feelings Hurt. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue as well."

Cuddy put on a (sensible) nightgown and climbed into bed.

"You know my favorite part of all this?" she said, with a mischievous grin. "That your attempt at faking a methadone-induced low libido lasted for all of two minutes."

House laughed.

"You didn't play fair! You were wearing that nightie! And that body! And that . . face!"

Cuddy gave a self-satisfied smile.

"Flattery is not going to work tonight," she said.

"Oh really?" he said, pulling her toward him. She squealed a bit, but didn't put up too much resistance, as he began smothering her with kisses.

"You'll always be my favorite amigo," he whispered in her ear. "And as a reward, I will now go South of the Border."

Cuddy giggled as House's lips began migrating downward.

"Olé!" she said.

THE END


End file.
